Chaos
by lauTOre
Summary: An argument between the two brothers becomes a rather marginal problem due to a school shooting.
1. Chapter 1

Thanks to all the ones who are going to read this story, especially to those who have already read my last one. You're brave, guys!  
Unfortunately, I still didn't find a beta. Poor you. 'Cause this is not the way you're going to prevent me from writing. Nevertheless, I know that my English is rather... well, it deserves ameliorations. So if there's anybody out there...?

This story won't be long, only four chapters. So don't expect too much.  
Again I have to admit that I don't own Numb3rs. But maybe one day...

C H A O S

0 = 1 - 2 + 3 - 4 + 5 - 6 + 7 - 8 + 9 - 9 + 8 - 7 + 6 - 5 + 4 - 3 + 2 - 1 = 0

"Hey, Charlie, there's a problem with your search algorithm. Can you come over to the office?"

Search algorithm? Which search algorithm? Oh _that_. "What a problem?," Charlie inquired via cell phone, letting his eyes fly hastily through his office. Where was this damned book?

"The whole system isn't really clear to us," Don answered and Charlie rolled his eyes. Thereby, they caught a glimpse of the spine of a mathematic disquisition. Well, there you are. As if his office was messy.

He pulled at the book lying under a pile of other books, booklets and loose sheets that – of course – promptly started to slid and spread upon the already cram-full desk.

"Charlie?"

"Yeah… wait a minute…"

A glance at the clock told him that he had exactly thirty seconds until he would be late. Since the pile was still remaining on his desk, the friction force would probably hold it there for the next one and a half hours until Charlie would be back, he figured. So with one hand, he grabbed his laptop and his papers that – of course – immediately glided onto the floor, spreading all over the room.

"Damn!" Charlie cursed and began to collect the papers.

"What's up?" Don asked and there was a bit of impatience in his voice that didn't abate when he didn't get an answer. "Are you coming now?"

"I already explained the thing to you once!" Charlie flared up impatiently.

"But it doesn't make sense. Maybe you've made a mistake."

For an instance Charlie held on with his collection. "I am supposed to have made a mistake?!"

"Well, it's possible, isn't it?"

Charlie would have liked to answer that that was by no means possible. He knew, however, that humans made mistakes and that he was a human being. Logical deduction: it _was _possible.

"Okay," he moaned, displeased. "I'll probably make it to you in about two hours if I hurry."

Don thought he'd understood wrong. "_Two hours?!_ Why not at once?"

"Because, _at once_, I've got a lecture. By degrees you could at least try to know my schedule."

"Can't you skip the lecture?"

"Are you serious? Do I ask you to refuse to go to an assignment?"

"That's different!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. In my job there are people at risk." Don paused for a second to give his words affection, but Charlie just rolled his eyes again. Don had always the same reasoning, no matter if he said it aloud or if Charlie told it himself.

"But if you prefer to lecture…," Don continued, yet not finishing the sentence, but making it followed by a quite cynical one: "You know, actually _you_ could do that, talking to the widow or the widower or the half-orphans of a victim..."

"I have to go now," Charlie retorted, partly because he couldn't think of an adequate answer, partly because it was true. "Bye."

"Okay, but-"

Charlie didn't hear the rest of it. He had already shut his mobile and tossed it on the desk. He grabbed his laptop and the papers and flounced out of his office.

The door slammed shut behind him, maybe a bit too fiercely. He was late, of course. But it seemed to be also the sizzling feeling in his gut that had made a contribution to the energy that had nearly shattered the door to his office. A pity that it hadn't got broken. He could have sent the bill to his brother.

What was Don thinking, actually? As if Charlie hadn't better things to do than to be in preparedness until the FBI needed his mathematical skills!

Soon afterwards he stood at the professor's desk in the auditorium. He had really made it to be there with only four and a half minutes belatedness. That was even acceptable. Next time he'd be punctual. And he'd prepare the lesson extra-thoroughly. There was nothing you couldn't fix.

The guilty conscience had forced a smile on his features. At least his students shouldn't endure a grouchy professor for the remaining eighty-five and a half minutes. With the grimace, gradually changing into a more and more genuine smile, a thought had been tiptoed into Charlie's mind. He would probably knock his introduction on the head on short notice.

"What's that," he wanted to know from his students, banging his papers on the desk in front of them. You could tell from their look that they had been lying on Charlie's office's floor.

"A chaos, I'd say," a female student in the second row said quietly, grinning.

Charlie was grinning, too. It worked. "Exactly. And how was this chaos created?" He looked directly at the student, Elizabeth O'Rien, who now seemed rather confused about her professor's interest in her careless answer.

"Well… I suppose…" She hesitated and suddenly seemed to see daylight. "I see!" she moaned. "Chaos theory!"

Charlie's grin widened when the rest of his course moaned as well. "Miss O'Rien is right, although you have to be careful not to confuse the mathematical term 'chaos' with the colloquial one. Well, let's look if the basics are still there. What exactly do we understand under chaotic behaviour?"

There went some hands up already while Charlie grabbed the chalk. "Yes?"

"Chaotic behaviour is on hand if the deterministic behaviour of an object with changed initial conditions shows intense differences towards the initial behaviour at a later moment being within the temporary conditions of watching."

"Correct," Charlie smiled at the student from the third row, scribbling the main facts on the board. "That means," he recorded for them all, "this is about the temporary behaviour of objects. Thereby, even the tiniest alteration of the initial conditions can cause intense differences in the dynamic. Now, before we talk about the calculation, I'd like to know from you in which domains the chaos theory is applied."

Giving the several students their turn and scribbling their answers on the board, Charlie sensed his bad mood evaporating step by step. His students contributed to the lesson and were fully concentrated. _Okay_, Charlie thought, _maybe that's because they have figured out that it's only a couple of weeks until finals._

But there would make it. Except one or two of them his students had worked very well in the past semester und if the other few put their shoulders to the wheel also they were going to pass the exam. And then, sooner or later, they would stand on their own feet and change the world with their skills. Oh yes, Charlie loved his job.

In the middle of the lesson the door to the auditory was opened with a jerk and a voice floated over to him: "Good morning, professor Eppes."

Charlie turned. Then the shots banged.

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Don looked at the receiver. His gaze was rigid, with incredulity as well as with anger. Charlie had hung up. He had really hung up, in the middle of Don's sentence! Don couldn't believe that he and Charlie had really both had the same education, an education in which the polite acquaintance with one's fellow men had been playing a decisive role.

Well, sometimes he was being a bit harsh himself, but it was always kept within a limit. And gradually Charlie should have acclimatized to it! And besides, Don's anger was justified! Charlie had no right to polish him off like this. And it was important; they needed him here!

Don grimaced. He became aware that his negotiation tactic hadn't been very clever, arguing with someone whose help he wanted to access. This would have never happened to him in an interrogation room. His brother, however, had sometimes the annoying talent to throw him a curve.

Nevertheless, Don was sure of one thing: Charlie couldn't stall him like this. The FBI still paid him for the cases he helped them with. Okay, he wasn't salaried, but still… And aside from that Charlie couldn't bemaul him like this!

Don downrightly hammered on the redialing key and waited until the free line signal would stop and Charlie would pick up the phone. But Charlie didn't pick up.

Don banged the receiver on the cradle. This was going to be followed by consequences; Charlie could bet his ass on it. When Don called him about something that important, Charlie couldn't play the defiant child.

A sentence his father having told him much too often and also running through his thoughts when Alan wasn't nearby came to Don's mind: _Charlie isn't an agent of yours, you know that…_

Of course Don knew. Charlie was his brother; that was the problem! He simply didn't consider it necessary to follow Don's orders! Don hadn't any authority, no influence upon him! Charlie thought he could do anything with him! But he couldn't!

"So, is Charlie coming?"

Don turned his head. Megan was standing behind him, looking at him expectantly.

Don succeeded to slacken his angry hissing into snorting. "What's up?" Megan asked, frowning. Usually, she would have sounded sympathetic, but the current stress in the Bureau reflected in her as well and so there was an unmistakable dose of impatience in her voice.

"In two hours. He's coming in _two_ _hours_, because he has such an extremely important lecture," Don repeated Charlie's words with the same acidity as yonder.

"Well, there you are. What's wrong about that?"

"What's wrong? _What's wrong?_ I told him to come and he acts as if he doesn't give a damn about it!"

"Why? He's coming, isn't he?"

"But not _now_!"

"Well, I mean, it's his job to have these lectures, isn't it?"

For an instance, Don struggled with himself. He didn't want to say something demonstrating his feelings too much, especially not towards a psychoanalyst, in the end, he still said it, though: "But the point is that he would have come for the NSA at once."

"Well, there's a difference between the NSA and the FBI. Besides, they would only come to him if they've got something really important."

"So this body that has disappeared isn't important?"

"Of course it is. You have to admit, however, that you ask for Charlie's help more often than any other investigation bureau."

"That has no bearing on this! The reason for all of it is that I'm Charlie's brother. He just thinks he can get away with murder if it's me!"

Megan laughed briefly. Don stared at her. He couldn't think of anything being particularly funny. "What's up?" he demanded to know, bemused.

"Come on, Don, you aren't seriously thinking Charlie believes he could get away with murder if it's you? In contrary, especially while working for you he tries to do his job perfectly."

"Yeah?" Don growled. He wondered briefly about the truth in Megan's words, but he wasn't willing to let go his anger that easily.

"Shall we go on checking these plates now?" Megan said, pushing, and it wasn't a question.

"If Charlie got off his butt and came over here-"

"Oh, let it go, Don. We're all in a bad mood, we really don't have to get each other on our nerves."

Damn it, again she was right. Was the whole world ganging up on him? Their boss had given them an unpleasant case, a body that had disappeared. That meant that they would again come far too late to change anything. Don had already wondered if his boss had done it on purpose, as a punishment. Their last case had been a disaster: a kidnapped child, two suspects whose guilt they weren't able to prove, not even with Charlie's help, parents having gone to the police too late, and a body in a child's coffin in the end.

Somewhere Don knew that the death of the kidnapped child wasn't their fault, but what was the use of it? They hadn't been able to safe it; that was what mattered. And now they had to dig out bodies in order to convict some guy anywhere and in order to give his widow a body to bury. Where was the sense?

To perfect the situation, last week Terry had sent him an invitation to her marriage. Alan had noticed it somehow and this morning at breakfast had got on Don's nerves telling him how deeply his wish for grand-children was. And as if this wasn't enough, it was raining outside. Another power conspiring against him. And now Charlie got on his nerves, as well. It really couldn't grow much worse.

How gravely Don was wrong.

0 = 1 - 2 + 3 - 4 + 5 - 6 + 7 - 8 + 9 - 9 + 8 - 7 + 6 - 5 + 4 - 3 + 2 - 1 = 0


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks a lot for your reviews! I really appreciate them a lot! I hope you'll continue reviewing in the following chapters.  
Also thanks to those who go on reading this story. Hope you enjoy.

0 = 1 - 2 + 3 - 4 + 5 - 6 + 7 - 8 + 9 - 9 + 8 - 7 + 6 - 5 + 4 - 3 + 2 - 1 = 0

Already while the air exploded with a deafening bang, a red-hot burning sword was rammed into Charlie's left shoulder. Stars were dancing in front of his eyes. He staggered back a few steps until he barged against the board. Feeling the hard material in his back and the fog clearing up, he became aware that it wasn't any more the detonation of the bullet that was deafening in his ears, but the shouts of panic and the screaming of his students.

Black spots came into his field of vision. Heat was rising up to his mind where suddenly a swarm of bees seemed to fly around. All of a sudden, his legs were too mellow to let Charlie believe they could bear his weight and that of the swarm any longer. The thought had barely occurred to him when he noticed that he was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall.

_What's going on here?,_ he wondered. In his mind, there was still a huge mess, _a chaos_, Charlie thought and wondered why he didn't smile at the wordplay. The next moment he became aware that there was no reason to smile. There was something going wrong nightmarishly. The chaos wasn't only in his mind, but also in the real world. He had just been in a lecture, hadn't he? What had changed that suddenly?

Finally, his sight had cleared up well enough to recognize the black-dressed figure standing in the door. The figure leveling a machine pistol at him.

0 = 1 - 2 + 3 - 4 + 5 - 6 + 7 - 8 + 9 - 9 + 8 - 7 + 6 - 5 + 4 - 3 + 2 - 1 = 0

"Eppes! There's a new case for you."

Don's head jerked up in surprise and his eyes met the AD's, Walt Merrick. He didn't know if he had heard well.

"Sorry?"

"A new case for you, Eppes. For your team."

"But, Sir," Don contradicted, changing a gaze with his team that was listening interested, willing at best to ask if the AD had still all his senses, "we already have a case. The body that had disappeared."

"I know that, Eppes. The other teams are indispensable, however, and it's urgent." Merrick could as well have said that Don should shut up and eventually listen.

Don swallowed a comment and his mood sank a few centimeters deeper. Great, even the Director didn't just bawl him out, he also thought that their case wasn't that important. Great, really.

"What is it about?" he inquired, as neutral as possible.

"A school shooting," the Director informed him. "The perpetrator has around twenty hostages under his thumb; to our knowledge, there were six or seven shots until now, all of them in fast sequence and with all probability coming from only one weapon. The SWAT is informed. The building is being evacuated at the moment, except of the hostages of course."

A school shooting, great. That meant that he would have to prevent some crazy guy from carrying out a blood bath, at best in convincing him. The day really grew better and better.

"And where?" Don inquired and tried to sound not too surly.

"In the California Institute of Science."

0 = 1 - 2 + 3 - 4 + 5 - 6 + 7 - 8 + 9 - 9 + 8 - 7 + 6 - 5 + 4 - 3 + 2 - 1 = 0

"No one's moving! Hands up! All of you!"

Charlie tried to obey. He couldn't. He held his right arm in the demanded position, indeed; but he couldn't move his left one by any stretch of the imagination. If it hadn't been for the infernal, burning pain, he wouldn't even have known if his arm was still attached to his body.

The armed man came closer, his face deformed to a grimace by the execrable grin. The devil's mask. "Keep your hands down, Eppes. I'm a generous man." He let the weapon sink a bit, still keeping hit on Charlie, however. "Besides, you can't do anything to me any more, anyway."

The boastful grin disappeared and was replaced by a glance full of hatred proclaiming harm. "The time of your power is over."

Dimly Charlie wondered if his opponent had this sentence from a computer game, but his confused gaze was mainly for other reasons. _The time of your power is over? _What should that mean? Who was this guy in the first place? What did he want?

"What is that about?" Charlie dared to talk, trying to frame all the things that weren't clear at the same time in this one question. He didn't know if he would get a second opportunity to ask, after all.

The madman seemed to be able to read his mind. "You don't remember me, do you, Eppes? Crowded me out? But I'll tell you who I am. You'll know it early enough. I failed the exam because of you, then, Eppes."

That made it all clear. _As if clear_, a voice in Charlie's mind scoffed and another one corrected it: _Okay, that answers at least one question._

"Phelps. Matthew Phelps," Charlie said quietly. He remembered who the man was. The fog had completely lifted, even if Charlie's surroundings still emanated an unusual aura. Could this really be happening? He saw the pale faces of his students, holding trembling hands over their heads. He saw the bald fear in their eyes. In some of the lifted hands, he even saw the one or the other ball-pen. And he saw at least five bullet holes in the wall. It was all so unreal…

However, both his agonizing shoulder and Phelps' menacing voice catapulted him back in reality. "Wow, you remember me. Nice to see that it's reciprocal. 'Cause me too, I was often remembering you."

He didn't continue and after a few seconds, Charlie considered it safer to ask further questions: "Yeah?"

The whole thing was for show. Phelps wanted himself to play to the gallery, Charlie felt it. He had it all planned thoroughly. He wanted to see his ancient professor suffer. He and Charlie were marionettes in a script written by him and Phelps would pay attention to them acting it until the end. He played with him. And Charlie had a very certain foreshadow that this was going to be a game of life and death.

"Yeah," Phelps answered, with pleasure. "And every time I wondered how I'm going to let you suffer best before killing you."

Charlie swallowed; he couldn't restrain the reflex. Still, there didn't arrive any moisture in his stomach; his oral cavity was desiccated.

"Afraid?" Phelps scoffed, grinning diabolically. Charlie shuddered. "Well, well. So we're already done with part one."

"Part one whereof?" Charlie asked as deliberate as possible. The fact that his voice sounded that hollow wasn't really his intent.

"Of your torture – or do you believe I'll just bump you off? No. You have to suffer first, just like I had to suffer." He paused briefly, turning his back towards Charlie, and then continued just the more loudly and fiercely, so that Charlie cringed in spite of all self-control. "You've _humiliated_ me, Eppes, in front of them all. Everyone could see that I didn't make it, because of you! And now _I _am going to humiliate _you_!"

_Well, if that's everything,_ Charlie thought with a kind of sarcastic gallows humor, while Phelps made his way towards him.

"You're going to whine for mercy," he hissed. "You're going to beg for your life. I'm going to debase you in front of your students just like you abased me in front of my fellow students."

Charlie would have liked to contradict, but he was afraid. He was petrified that he could antagonize Phelps somehow, that Phelps sometime would shoot all the same. _Pull yourself together_, Charlie forced himself, desperately. _You have to keep your sanity. You mustn't antagonize him. You must…_

His train of thought suddenly stopped. He didn't know what to do.

Panic threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed it back and tried to act logically. _There's always a possibility_, he tried to convince himself. _There must be something you can do. What would Don do?_ Would Don try to overcome Phelps? Probably not, he could endanger the others…

Suddenly, the answer lightened up in front of him. Don would keep Phelps a-talking until rescue came. Yes, that was exactly the thing Don would do.

If Don's throat would be as tight as his?

0 = 1 - 2 + 3 - 4 + 5 - 6 + 7 - 8 + 9 - 9 + 8 - 7 + 6 - 5 + 4 - 3 + 2 - 1 = 0

Don's throat was tight.

"Where?" he croaked.

"California Institute of Science," Merrick repeated impatiently and visibly annoyed. "And now get going, Eppes!" And without deigning a further look at Don he disappeared.

David's and Colby's gazes were swinging between Don and Megan, waiting for one of them to react. Colby noticed Don's respiration having increased. Then he became aware, that he and David fared no different. He glanced at Megan. She was as white as a wall, and her hands were trembling.

"What are we waiting for?" Don shouted, his raw voice flipping over. He stood and hurried towards the elevators, David and Colby close behind him. Megan quickly detached herself from her numbness and hurried to come behind three of them.

"Don," she called at her boss while David and Colby entered the elevator whose control panel was being maltreated by Don. She barely made it into the cabin before the doors closed behind her.

"Don," she repeated hauntingly, eyes wide. "You can't seriously think of taking command, here! We're biased, altogether!"

Don glared at her, his gaze unbelieving. "Do you really think I care? Either Charlie is well, and Larry and Amita, then we aren't biased, or… or they aren't well and then we can't simply let them down!"

"But we can't take the chance of making mistakes!"

"I really didn't intend that, Megan, I tell you!"

"But we know-"

"DO YOU KNOW HOW LITTLE I CARE? You've heard Merrick! We're the only team that's available! And if nobody cares about that guy soon, he'll probably crack up completely!"

Megan watched him for some instants, her look unfathomable. Then she nodded.

0 = 1 - 2 + 3 - 4 + 5 - 6 + 7 - 8 + 9 - 9 + 8 - 7 + 6 - 5 + 4 - 3 + 2 - 1 = 0

"Let the students go."

Charlie was a bit taken aback by himself. Phelps seemed to be, too, for he had raised his eye-brows, bursting out laughing. "And why should I do that, Eppes?"

"They didn't do harm to you. You only want me. Let 'em go."

Again this taunting grin. "I only want you, Eppes? Where do you get that idea from?" He turned towards the students, fidgeting with his gun, screaming as if he was in a lunatic illusion. "Where do you get the idea from I won't do something to you? Guys like you have humiliated me! I'll kill you! I'll kill you all!"

Charlie concentrated on Don and his tone was even, although his voice was trembling. "You won't do that."

Immediately, Phelps spun around towards him, as well as the machine pistol. "Yeah? And what makes you so sure?"

Charlie tried to ignore the muzzle of the gun, looking his opponent straight in the eye. "You aren't a murderer, Phelps. You could have killed me a thousand times by now, but you didn't do it."

"Do you think I'm a coward or something?!"

What for heaven's sake went wrong? Every word seemed to make this moron more aggressive! "No," Charlie answered and was extremely careful in picking his words. "But I consider you clever enough not to kill anybody. You didn't do great harm until now. If it remains like this, you'll get off cheaply."

Charlie already thought it would work. Phelps was silent and seemed actually to think about his words. But then, the annoying taunting grin returned. "Give in, Eppes. You won't get away, nobody of you." Taunt changed into wickedness and illusion. "Otherwise we wouldn't have spectators, would we?"

0 = 1 - 2 + 3 - 4 + 5 - 6 + 7 - 8 + 9 - 9 + 8 - 7 + 6 - 5 + 4 - 3 + 2 - 1 = 0

Don's SUV dashed through LA, the lightened red light displayed, the siren sounding. If they had wasted a thought about it, maybe David, Colby and Megan would have prevented him from driving himself, for safety matters, though they were much too tense for such arguments.

On the front passenger's seat, Megan fiddled in her pocket and pulled out her cell. "Nobody's answering to Charlie's mobile," she informed them a few seconds later, the mobile attached to her ear.

Don felt panic heating up his head. If Charlie was able to do it he would answer the phone, wouldn't he? But it couldn't be, it couldn't be true… Maybe the shooting had already been in full swing when he had called Charlie back after their argument… to shout at him once more…

"Try Larry's," Colby suggested from the backseat.

"Hasn't got one," Megan replied shortly.

"Amita?" David tried.

"No number."

"Well…" David cleared his throat and then continued, a bit awkward: "We'll be there soon. Then we'll surely be able to ask them directly what's going on."

Megan's response was barely audible. "I hope so."

Few, but agonizing long minutes later, Don's tires were squealing when they came to a halt in front of the CalSci. A chaotic image was displayed in front of their eyes: the campus was full of people, running confused through each other, seeming to be looking for friends and fellow students.

As soon as the university center had come into sight, Megan's eyes had searched the area, without success. The four of them had barely got out of the SUV, however, when an outcry escaped her: "There!" And she pointed at two figures thrusting their way through the crowd towards them.

Larry and Megan hugged, though releasing each other quickly. "Where's Charlie?" Megan wanted to know, her glance scurrying from Amita and Larry to Don, who was still searching the chaos on the campus with his eyes.

"We don't know. We couldn't find him anywhere until now." Amita sounded as if she was close to losing control.

There was shocked silence for some instants.

"Come on, now," a quiet, but determined voice suddenly said, yet coming from Don's mouth, but having a completely other tone color. The forced calmness, possibly resulting by the shock, was leaving its mark. "We have no time to lose."

Don had no idea how right he was.

0 = 1 - 2 + 3 - 4 + 5 - 6 + 7 - 8 + 9 - 9 + 8 - 7 + 6 - 5 + 4 - 3 + 2 - 1 = 0


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks a lot for your reviews! They make me feel so happy!  
So here's chapter three. Maybe I took a little here - I'm sorry - , but in order to compensate - drum roll... - it's corrected! I've finally found a beta, and with MarieThea I've found a really, really good one. She sure enough did an amazing job correcting this (thanks to you here!).  
And now I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 3**

"You don't stand a chance, Phelps," Charlie said and in the same moment he feared how the madman would react upon it. Don would have certainly said the same thing, though. Certainly. "The police will be here soon and if you won't have come to senses by then, you won't get out alive from here."

This guy was sick. Listening to his laugh grating on everyone's nerves it was clear to all of them. "Do you really believe I care? I've got nothing to lose, 'cause I've already lost everything because of you!"

Charlie felt as if someone had punched him in the face. He hadn't thought about that at all until now. Was he responsible for what was happening here? Would he be responsible if one of his students died? Was he even responsible if Phelps himself would be killed?

"You failed the exam just because you hadn't studied enough," Charlie disagreed in a brave attempt to hold the fault off.

"Of course, Eppes. Always simpler to shift the blame, isn't it?"

_Likewise_, Charlie wanted to respond, but this time he contained himself. "You could have passed the exam," Charlie persisted, filled with tremendous anxiety. However, as long as Phelps was kept talking, the danger that he would start shooting was at least lower. "You'd just have to have put your shoulder to the wheel."

"Put my shoulder to the wheel?" Phelps hissed. "You have no clue, Eppes, how much I've put my shoulder to the wheel! I worked around the clock! I've studied everyday! And I got good grades, always! Do you think I got a commendation from my parents, just once, just one time—even a simple 'well done'? Never! As long as I was good they didn't give a damn about me! Only when I was stopped bothering, they started caring at these stupid grades! And do ya' know what they did when they got wise to it, that you had made me fail? Nothing! They _disowned me_, you get that? I simply wasn't their son any more! They turned away from me!"

It was Phelps' turn to turn away from Charlie and to stroll around in front of the professor's desk in angled ellipses.

Charlie frowned. Angled ellipses? This geometrical shape surely had a name, hadn't it? Yes? No? He couldn't remember. He felt as if he was feverish, too shivering and hot to think about anything.

Charlie had become every smaller at the wall and now he sensed that this was not a good position. His shoulder was burning. He glanced down at it and realized, appalled, that his T-shirt was drenched with blood. So that was the reason why he felt so shaky and weak. Another thing came to his mind: humans needed blood. If they didn't have enough blood in them, they died.

Although everything else was so unreal and far away, Charlie could grasp one fact: if help didn't come soon, he'd bleed to death.

- - -

_Bang_.

That was the end. Phelps had fired.

Charlie winced, though keeping his eyes closed, trying to sense where the pain came from. There was no pain, however, at least aside from his shoulder. _Maybe a shot in the head, _Charlie wondered. _That is said not to hurt._ It seemed the only possibility. That meant that he was dead. But could he still think, then? Well, seemed so. But could he still hear then, too? Seemed so as well, because Charlie was fairly certain that Phelps' angry steps hadn't faded away.

_Bang._ Another one. How many times he wanted to shoot him in the brain? That really had to be disgusting. His students were prob-

Oh Lord! His students!

Before Charlie realized what he did his eyes snapped open, searching the rows in front of him. No, they all seemed to be alive—apparently Phelps hadn't shot at one of them, thank God! But wait… if Charlie could see them, probably the madman hadn't shot at him, either! But where else?

His gaze was focused on the strolling Phelps, and the next moment, something like relief floated through him when Phelps knocked his gun on the desk with a _bang. _So no shots.

The next moment the relief was gone as fast as it had come. Phelps was aggressive. And although the chaos in Charlie's mind didn't really become clearer by the fog of pain, he was aware that it wasn't advantageous to let a madman carrying a gun become aggressive.

"You aren't the first one," Charlie said, and when Phelps spun around it became clear to him that he'd better express his thoughts more coherently. "Who failed an exam, I mean. There are people in leading positions being held in high esteems who had to repeat a semester." In his present situation, stretching the truth a bit surely couldn't be that depraved.

Phelps seemed quite stunned for someone having just flounced into a university to carry out a massacre. "You still don't get it, Eppes! You just don't get it! You think this is about a 'pass' or a 'fail', don't you? You have no idea. You have no idea at all! Your decision to let me fail has ruined my whole life! You get it? Just 'cause you thought you should let me fail, my life is fucked up!"

Charlie stared at him, unable to think straight, only continuing to listen to Phelps' deplorable life story. "My parents stopped supporting me! I had to make a living on my own! Then they sent me to prison, just because I wanted to struggle through! And when I was in prison my girlfriend suddenly had no truck with me anymore! Do you know what it's like when simply everything goes down south, you know that? No, you don't! You don't have any idea! My life is ruined and it's your fault," his voice going quiet and dangerous. "And you are going to pay for it."

Charlie didn't know what to say. Nor did he know what had hit him more, Phelps' words or the bullet in his shoulder. However, he didn't have to say anything, anyway, because everyone's attention was drawn away.

"This is the FBI! You're surrounded. Leave the building, hands up!"

- - -

Charlie's heartbeat accelerated. He recognized the voice, in spite of the distortion of the megaphone. _Don! _Don was here! Everything would go well now, there was no doubt. His big brother had come to bail him out. Don, the superhero.

Charlie's hopes burst like a soap bubble hearing Phelps' grumbled: "Like hell I will."

Don repeated his demand and Charlie listened closely to every syllable. He didn't want to miss a word, because with every word, new hope floated into the auditorium. Don was here, the rescue was here, they were so close…

With the handle of his gun, Phelps shattered the window and shouted, from under the sill, "Forget it! I won't come out! Neither do the hostages!"

There was a strained silence for one second. "We have snipers in position. As soon as the first shot is fired we're ready to storm. You won't get out."

"Also a single shot can kill someone! _Another one, _I should say!" Phelps shouted back, shooting a glance full with hatred towards Charlie, letting him shudder.

This time, the silence was longer. Charlie's strain was growing exponentially. They had to say something again, soon…! If they didn't say anything, this guy would freak out completely… _Don! Where are you?_

Finally, there was again a voice floating over to them: "We can't help you if we don't know what you want. My name is Megan Reeves. What's yours?"

Charlie couldn't resist the disappointment. Megan was here. That was good, surely it was good. She was psychologist. She was well trained. He could be glad that she was here.

But where was Don?

"What are you doing? What do you think you're doing?" Phelps' shouting drew the attention back to him. "Is this some sort of good-cop-bad-cop-crap?"

"Tell us your name. Then we can talk," Megan persisted.

There was a tense silence for some instants.

"Matt," Phelps suddenly said then. "Matt Phelps."

"Okay, Matt. Would you like to talk to somebody? Maybe to your parents? Friends?"

"They can get lost!" Phelps shouted and his voice flipped over.

"Alright, Matt. You don't have to see them if you don't want to. You've got everything under control."

"You can bet your ass I have!"

"Keep calm, Matt."

"DON'T YOU DARE ISSUE ORDERS TO ME!"

And before Charlie knew what happened to him, Phelps had already crawled over to him, pulling him to his feet. Charlie thought his shoulder would explode, so pervasive was the pain. He barely recognized that Phelps had shoved him in front of him like a shield, his left arm over Charlie's hurt shoulder, around his neck. Not until they were halfway across the room on the way from the board to the windows. Charlie realized what his opponent was planning. He thought of Don again and tried to keep his features emotionless. He failed. Pure fear was coursing through him. He felt the cold metal of the weapon at his temple and prayed.

Through the ocean of black points in front of his eyes, Charlie let his gaze wander across the campus beneath him, and his stomach did a back somersault. Don was there. While keeping the gaze with him, Charlie saw, even from the distance, that his big brother was as white as a sheet. His eyes were open wide and his mouth half so while he was staring up at him, as if to call out reassuring words to his brother. _Hang in there, little one. I'll be with you, soon. We'll take you out of there. It will be all good. _No single word was spoken, but the message came in.

"So, you see? You can't do anything to me! _Anything!_" This guy was mad. There was no doubt.

"There's no use, Matt," Megan called up, her voice hoarse. This time she renounced the megaphone, if consciously or if she just didn't think about it. "Put the gun down! As soon as you shoot, you will have forfeited your own life!"

"And what if I care a damn shit about it?"

"You don't. Everybody cares, even if you're trying to convince yourself about the opposite."

Phelps was silent. Charlie could feel his breath on his neck. The last human breath he had sensed that near had been Amita's. Charlie could see her. She had clasped her hands in front of her face, staring up to them, her eyes wide. _I love you_, he tried to tell her with his gaze. _You know that? I love you!_

He didn't know where to look. Every glance could be the last one. As if he didn't know that, the gun at his temple made itself felt; it was trembling. As well as Phelps' arm.

"And why should I care?" Phelps shouted and the next moment, the heavy weapon had disappeared from Charlie's temple. In return for it, it was held against his waist. "My life was a load of crap! Why should I care if all this finally ends?"

"Because there's always something to live for! You-"

Megan couldn't go on. For in this moment, another shot tore through the air, almost immediately followed by another.

0 = 1 - 2 + 3 - 4 + 5 - 6 + 7 - 8 + 9 - 9 + 8 - 7 + 6 - 5 + 4 - 3 + 2 - 1 = 0

"No," Don wanted to shout, but it wasn't more than a hoarse whisper. "No, please. Charlie…"

He couldn't see his brother any more. Charlie had sunk on the floor, along with Phelps.

Before Don knew what he was doing, he had already run into the building and was hurrying up the stairs on the way to the auditorium. He didn't even notice his team following him.

The stairs and the corridors seemed to never come to an end, although it was just the second floor. Don had only one thought in the void of his mind: _How is he?_

Finally, he had reached the relevant corridor, was hurrying through it, tearing open the doors to his right-hand side. Nothing, nothing, nothing again… here! An open window, distraught students. Some of them were holding a man lying on the floor. Some distance from him, there was a black machine pistol, lying directly beside the arm of the second man, of whom Don could see nothing except this very arm due to the students around him.

For a second he stood, too shocked from the horror possibly awaiting him. Eventually, Don's legs moved towards the crowd, though, as if by themselves. As if from far away, he could hear Phelps roaring; he didn't care. He continued his way until he saw the figure of his brother lying in front of him.

Someone that pale couldn't be alive.

He was dead.

Don's soul wanted to tear apart. A part of him wanted to flee, away, wanted to run untrue the image in front of his eyes, wanted to run in the other world where his brother lived; another part felt attracted to his brother impregnably strongly. The latter won the disposal of the body.

"Charlie?"

Don's voice was trembling, as well as his hand. His white fingers were afraid of touching Charlie, afraid of his brother's skin being cold and turning his blood into ice. Still, he couldn't withstand the urge.

His fingertips had barely made contact with Charlie's cheek when they jerked away again. He couldn't have known from the short touch if Charlie's skin was warm or cold, indeed, but the question seemed to answer itself, for Charlie's eyelids had cracked open, at least at half-mast. He wasn't dead. At least he wasn't if this was really happening.

Don didn't dare to speak – if this part of this awfully real nightmare was a real dream, a hallucination, he wanted to never wake up. And so it was Charlie who spoke first, as soon as the fog around him had cleared up enough to recognize the figure in front of his burning eyes.

"Don…"

No hallucination. "I'm here, little one," Don assured, his voice choked, and was hurriedly feeling around for Charlie's hand. He squeezed it tightly. He would never let his brother go. He would never let him go into a world he couldn't follow him in.

He had to bring his ear even nearer to Charlie's mouth to understand the following words. "…sorry…," he heard Charlie whisper. "Didn't want… we argue…"

"Shhh," Don hushed, fighting against the tears that were welling up in him and demanding their way out of his corners of the eye. He didn't know what to say any more. _Keep calm?_ He'd better listen to this advice himself. _The ambulance will be here soon?_ Even 'soon' was too late. _Don't say anything?_ That might be right, from a medicinal point of view, but maybe this was Charlie's last opportunity to say something, the last opportunity to ever again listen to his brother speak…

"I'll be with you," Don finally said, forced. He stroked his brother's sweat-soaked hair off his clammy forehead, trying to regulate his own breathing and to suppress his sobs.

Under his heavy eyelids, Charlie glanced at him thankfully before they closed.

With the back of his hand, Don caressed his pale cheek. Where had all the blood gone? It was too late when Don remembered that he knew the answer and he fixed his gaze on his brother's pain-marked features in order not to have to see the puddle of blood beside him.

"Oh, Charlie…," he whispered, choking, squeezing his brother's hand tightly. No, he wouldn't leave him. He would be with him.

In a material point of view, Don kept his promise until the operating room.

0 = 1 - 2 + 3 - 4 + 5 - 6 + 7 - 8 + 9 - 9 + 8 - 7 + 6 - 5 + 4 - 3 + 2 - 1 = 0


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks a lot for all the reviews I've received until now! I'd be glad if you continue to tell me your opinion.  
So, here's the last part. Hope you like it.

**Chapter 4**

Stoically, Don sat on a hard plastic chair in the waiting area of the emergency room. His gaze blank, he stared at the cold tiles in front of him, seeing the same images again and again: Charlie lying on the floor as if dead, Charlie arguing with him, Charlie explaining a mathematic formula to him and the team, Charlie just laughing, Charlie…

Don swallowed and sensed that the tears were again threatening to overwhelm him. And this time he let it happen. He couldn't. He couldn't stand it any more. He was done.

How on earth could this whole thing have happened? Why hadn't he been able to protect his brother?

_Simple enough, 'coz you're a rotten brother_, a vicious voice in Don's mind said. _You were arguing with him. Congratulations. The last conversation with your brother had been a fight because you wanted him to drop everything else for you._

Don's lonesome, desperate sobs echoed from the walls. The last conversation… No! No, that couldn't have been it! Charlie shouldn't die! He _couldn't _die! He was… so young, he had so many plans with his work, with Amita, he _couldn't_ die! He was Don's little brother…

Without acknowledging it, Don had folded his hands and was praying silently, his sobs fading away unheard. _Please, God, don't let him die, please don't. He… I wouldn't stand that. First mom and now Charlie… I couldn't bear that. Please, please, don't take him away from me. I'll take better care of him in the future, I promise, but please don't take him away from me. I need him._

The part of Don that was still too shocked to do anything active listened to the words in his head coming from deep inside his heart. This part was surprised, although it knew at the same time that it was the truth: Don needed Charlie. And he didn't know what he would do if something happened to his little brother, something that couldn't be made good again.

"Donnie!"

Don recognized the voice at once, although it was close to dying away. While he stood and turned towards his father, he hastily wiped the tears from his face and reddened eyes with his sleeve.

"Dad," he answered quietly so the fragility of his voice kept a passably low profile.

Before Don could order his legs to move to his father, Alan had already reached him and the Eppes men hugged tightly, the only hold they could give each other. Don sensed Alan's back quiver, and he was again on the edge of breaking down himself, but this time he had to be strong. He had to support his father at least.

Don had held his eyes shut tight during the hug, and it wasn't until he opened them that he noticed Megan, Larry and Amita. He let go of his father and the two of them detached from each other.

"Thank you for bringing him here," Don said, as calmly as possible.

"No problem," Megan returned quietly. She glanced at the door to the Emergency Room before her gaze fixed Don. "Do they know anything yet?"

Don shook his head and took a shaky breath in through his nose. "Two gunshot wounds, one in the shoulder, the other one in the gut. And… and he's lost a lot of blood. They didn't say more." It had been enough, though. Generally, everything was clear: the shot in the shoulder must have hit Charlie at the very beginning of the ordeal, and the second when one of the snipers had shot Phelps in the shoulder. Everything was logical; it would probably make a neat report. Nevertheless, Don could still not comprehend everything that had happened. Not as long as his little brother was in there, struggling with death.

Megan laid her hand on his shoulder, though she didn't say anything. Also Larry, his hands covering his mouth and nose, and Amita, her eyes wet with tears, remained silent.

_He won't make it_, Don thought desperately. _They know that he won't make it._

He turned away from them. He couldn't stand it anymore to look in their widened eyes. Desperation threatened to pull him down again, but this time Don knew that he couldn't let it happen. _I believe in you, Charlie,_ he thought, strained, _you feel it? I don't give you in. I know that you'll make it. Don't let me down._

And somewhere deep down in the inside, Don knew that Charlie heard him.

0 = 1 - 2 + 3 - 4 + 5 - 6 + 7 - 8 + 9 - 9 + 8 - 7 + 6 - 5 + 4 - 3 + 2 - 1 = 0

It was dark.

He glanced around. No, there was nothing, everything empty. And on the other side? Neither. Maybe behind him? Possible. If he only knew where this 'behind' was.

"Charlie!"

Charlie turned his head towards the sweet voice calling him. There was a light. Blinded, he squinted his eyes. Heavens, that was flashy. Though fair and beautiful. As well as the voice. "Come, Charlie! We're waiting for you."

Charlie didn't even think about it and walked towards the voice feeling as if he were walking on velvet.

It was around half way that he sensed a gaze on his back and he turned. "Hello?" He couldn't see anything, but he knew that somebody was standing there, watching him. Guarding him.

"Don?"

The figure took a step closer and was now slightly lightened by the flashy, white light. A strong, muscular body, sharp, angular, but handsome features, crow's-feet around the smiling eyes. Unmistakably Don.

"Are you coming, Charlie?" Again the brilliant-clear voice.

Charlie examined his brother for a long time before he turned halfway towards it. "Soon mom."

But she didn't let go. "It doesn't hurt here anymore, Charlie."

"But mom, Don's here!"

"No, Charlie, he isn't here. He's over there with all the others."

Charlie was confused. He could see Don. He could even go over to him… at least he thought he could. He ordered his legs to do so, but strangely they didn't move an inch.

"Why isn't Donnie with us? Why aren't we with the others?"

"That's the course of the world, Charlie."

"But I don't want to leave them!"

Margaret remained silent, mysterious.

"What will I do, mom?

"You have to know yourself, my boy. You have to decide."

Again Charlie examined his brother for a long time. Don was just smiling, nothing more. _He's glad to see me,_ the thought crossed Charlie's mind. _But why?_, he wondered, immediately giving the response himself. _He's coming for me. I must have been away. But Don wants me back._

Charlie returned his brother's smile and stepped towards Don. The white light spread and lit the dark on their way while they walked in silence one beside another.

0 = 1 - 2 + 3 - 4 + 5 - 6 + 7 - 8 + 9 - 9 + 8 - 7 + 6 - 5 + 4 - 3 + 2 - 1 = 0

With a last gaze at his sons, Alan disappeared through the door, destination home. He really deserved a respite.

"You can just go, too. You don't have to be here all the time, Don. You surely have more important things to do."

Don smiled and shook his head. "No, to tell the truth, there's nothing more important, Chuck."

Charlie reddened. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had always known that Don liked to act as his protector. However, the fact that Don's feelings for him were strong enough to keep him in the sickroom every minute he didn't have to be at work, had been a new, a warming experience. Don had also been with him when he had woken up the first time after surgery, one week ago. And although Charlie had been quite bleary, he remembered exactly Don's telltale bright, shining eyes.

"And, how's it been today?" Don inquired and Charlie knew at once that his brother was alluding to his therapy. To the physical therapy.

"Quite well, at least Dr. Clark says so. He believes I should be able to move my arm completely in a month."

Fortunately the nerve damage in Charlie's shoulder caused by the bullet had shaped up as not too grave. And with the therapy starting four days after surgery, Charlie's chances to heal were very good.

"That's good," Don smiled.

"And…" Charlie hesitated, breathed deeply, and eventually asked: "And how is Phelps?"

At one blow Don's smile had disappeared. "I hope as rotten as someone could be in pre-trial custody," he grumbled.

Charlie was silent. He didn't want to argue with Don.

"What's up?" Don dug deeper, and there was a strange mixture of anxiety and incomprehension mirroring in his eyes.

"It's just…" Charlie fell silent again.

"What?" Don said urging. "Talk to me, buddy! You can't seriously want to tell me that you pity this son of a bitch!"

Charlie was looking at his hands twisting into each other on the white blanket. "It's not that I wouldn't say that he was a bit extreme…" he mumbled, but he didn't get further.

"A bit extreme? _A bit extreme?!_ Charlie, he nearly got you killed!"

"Yeah, well, but…"

"I can't believe it, Charlie! Please do me a favour and don't try to defend this monster! There's nothing – you hear me, _nothing_ – that could justify what he did!"

"But that's not what this is about, right now!"

Don paused. Charlie was right. This wasn't about Don's hatred towards the man that had nearly got his little brother killed, but about Charlie. Don felt that something was bothering his brother, and it was his damn duty to be there for him. Not just because he had vowed it.

"What is it about, then, Charlie?" Don asked quietly and hoped he sounded as soft as he wanted to be for his brother.

Again Charlie breathed deeply. "It's just…Phelps has lost everything, just because he failed my exam. His parents stopped supporting him, he had to go to jail and then even his girlfriend left him. And all of this just because…just because he failed my exam. I mean…Don, what do I do if I make someone fail?"

Don stared at him. He hadn't looked at the whole of it from this point of view. He had only paid attention to Charlie until now, not to the monster that had nearly destroyed him. In his thoughts Don corrected the image: the monster that at some point of time had been destroyed by something itself…

Don shook his head. "You can't say it like this, Charlie. You can't blame yourself for that this guy couldn't manage his life anymore. You didn't force him to become a criminal, did you? And you hadn't made him fail without reason, right?"

"Of course not," Charlie replied. "His efforts were simply not sufficient. But…"

"You see," Don said insistently, when Charlie didn't go on, "you couldn't make him pass as long as he didn't fulfil the preconditions. Just imagine he would have got his diploma, would have gone to – dunno – to the building industry or wherever and would have helped to build a… a school, for example. But since he doesn't have the necessary skills, he commits a mistake and the whole school tumbles down."

Charlie stared at him. "I think you watch too many movies," he said dryly.

Don denied himself a smile. "Not true, Chuckie. That's life. Believe me."

And Charlie believed him. He didn't know where it came from, but he had imperturbable faith in his big brother. And this faith had stood the test, with Don having whispered to him what to do during the school shooting. He had prevented everything from going haywire, just as he now brought order to Charlie's emotional chaos. No doubt, Don was the best brother in the world. And the best chaos-clearer ever.

0 = 1 - 2 + 3 - 4 + 5 - 6 + 7 - 8 + 9 - 9 + 8 - 7 + 6 - 5 + 4 - 3 + 2 - 1 = 0

- The 3nd -


End file.
